


As certain dark things are loved

by linndechir



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Blow Jobs, Collars, Dom/sub, Leashes, M/M, Yuleporn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 04:27:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2837954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You keep talking about leashing me, Gansey, but you never do." Ronan licked his lips, a dirty challenge in his eyes that made Gansey take the leash from his hand despite his initial hesitation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As certain dark things are loved

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abriata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abriata/gifts).



> Dear abriata, I know that you requested Ronan, Gansey and Noah, but there was really no way I could fit Noah into a fill for your Gansey/Ronan D/s prompt. I figured that since this is a treat, that would be all right. I hope you enjoy this fic.

Ronan finally showed up at Nino's half an hour after everyone else had got there. Gansey had just been about to lecture him for skipping half his classes again that day, but for once he was at a loss for words when Ronan sprawled down on the chair next to his.

He looked the same as always – buzzed hair, expensive dark jeans, tight black tank top under his leather jacket. The only thing that was new was the slender black leather collar around his neck, sitting there as if it belonged on his skin, as if there was nothing odd about Ronan Lynch strolling around in a _collar_.

Adam and Blue teased him about it, the kind of good–humoured dog jokes that failed to offend Ronan even when they came from people he hated, let alone from his friends; he smirked and deflected any attempts to find out what he'd been thinking, but his eyes rarely ever strayed from Gansey's. Gansey figured it looked much like when Ronan was staring people down, but he knew him well enough to notice the minute differences – how the challenge in Ronan's eyes was more an invitation than a threat, how his smile was only half smug and half full of anticipation. For once Gansey couldn't think of much to say, so instead of commenting on the collar he brought the conversation back to Glendower and Cabeswater, back to things he could talk about without heat rising in his cheeks, back to things that should distract him.

The latter only worked as long as Gansey looked at Adam or Blue while talking rather than at Ronan.

And Ronan seemed in no hurry to get home even after they'd finished their food; he lingered and ordered another drink, drew Adam and Blue into pointless banter just to pass the time, and all the while he kept glancing at Gansey as if to check that Gansey knew what he was doing. Because there was no doubt that Ronan was taking his time on purpose – there wasn't much he _didn't_ do on purpose, especially when it came to pushing people's buttons. 

But there was only so long that Gansey was willing to let him have his fun, to let himself be teased by the sight of the leather strap around Ronan's pale throat, by the way Ronan kept stretching just a little and cocking his head back or to the side to display it. Baring his throat, half submissive, half daring Gansey to sink his teeth in.

There was only so long Gansey was willing to wait before he got up, said goodbye to Adam and Blue with a tightness in his voice that he hoped neither of them noticed, and put his hand on Ronan's shoulder.

"Come on, Ronan," he said, unconsciously slipping into the same voice he used when he had to keep Ronan from getting himself into trouble. "We're going home."

He could see the beginning of a protest form on Ronan's lips and dug his fingers into Ronan's shoulder, hard enough to make himself felt even through the leather jacket. Ronan's mouth closed again and he inclined his head just so, and Gansey let out a small sigh of relief. He didn't know how much he could stand to order Ronan around in public without getting _visibly_ distracted just now.

 

 

They drove back to Monmouth Manufacturing separately, Ronan's BMW chasing the Pig joyfully, speeding past it and then falling back again, and since Ronan didn't overdo it for once, Gansey was happy to play along. He was breathless as if he'd run the way home by the time he got there, just a minute after Ronan. He still heard Ronan's steps on the stairs and darted after him, hands grabbing his arms from behind when Ronan had made just a few steps into the main room.

Ronan, proud, stubborn Ronan who barely suffered anyone's touch, didn't even flinch. He stopped mid-stride, his body going perfectly still. It reminded Gansey of the tension in Ronan's limbs just before a fight, when he drew himself up tight like a spring before unwinding in a flurry of sublime violence, but there was nothing threatening about him now, not to Gansey's eye. He was tame, pliant almost when Gansey's hands made him turn, blue eyes wide and wild from the chase when they met Gansey's.

He was beautiful, his Ronan. Not just the strong nose and those cheekbones that were as sharp as his tongue, not his bright eyes and that bristly looking hair that felt so soft under Gansey's fingertips, but that wildness in him. Ronan carried just under his skin all the things that Gansey kept locked up tightly inside of himself, all the things that Gansey sometimes dreamed of being in the darkest nights, but rarely ever dared to be. His shadow in more than one regard.

Gansey lifted his fingertips to Ronan's neck, and once again Ronan tipped his head back, baring his throat so Gansey could touch the collar. The leather was soft as kidskin, about as wide as two slender fingers, and perfectly smooth despite the delicate ornaments that ran through it. Etched, Gansey would have said if he'd seen this leather in a shop, but he knew without a doubt that Ronan had not bought this.

"Did you dream this?" he whispered, still wanting confirmation. His fingertips found three small leather loops, one in the middle and two to the sides, barely visible, just large enough to hook a finger into. 

"You know I did," Ronan replied. His voice was as deep and smooth as the leather, all roughness seeping out of it when Gansey's fingers were on his throat. He shrugged out of his leather jacket and let it fall carelessly to the floor, covered Gansey's hand with his own to keep him from pulling back, while his other hand went into the bulging pocket of his jeans. He produced a slender leash made from the same leather that ended in a silver clasp, held it up briefly for Gansey to see before he put it into his hand.

"You keep talking about leashing me, Gansey, but you never do." Ronan licked his lips, a dirty challenge in his eyes that made Gansey take the leash from his hand despite his initial hesitation. The clasp didn't look like anything he had ever seen before, but when he tried to hook it into the middle loop of the collar, it closed with a clear sound like a silver spoon against a glass. Gansey gave it an experimental tug and the leash held. 

"If it works in the dream, it works in the real world?" he asked with a smile. Ronan simply nodded. He looked like he was waiting, waiting for Gansey to make up his mind and take what he was offered. Gansey stepped closer until his nose almost brushed against Ronan's chin. "What was it you dreamed of? What exactly?"

"You," Ronan replied. "Doesn't matter _what_ I dreamed about you. This is what I want."

 _This._ The real world, the real Gansey. Ronan had told him about Kavinsky's goons, and even Niall Lynch had gone and dreamed himself a wife. But Ronan wanted him, him as he was, not whatever Gansey was like in his dreams. It made a difference, somehow, despite the fact that Gansey had no doubt that the Gansey of Ronan's dreams was very much the same as him, if maybe a bit more in touch with all those darker, wilder parts of himself. The Gansey of Ronan's dreams was the Gansey he wanted to be on some nights.

Gansey wrapped the leash carefully around his hand. Neither of them moved for a few long moments. This wasn't like what they usually did – Ronan coming to Gansey's bed in the middle of the night, either bearing down on him with rough hands and sharp teeth or turning his back to him while Gansey pressed against him, held him and stroked him and whispered words into his ear that Ronan couldn't bring himself to hear during the day. Ronan lying on the floor of Gansey's room with his head on Gansey's thigh, listening to him talk. Ronan's hands pulling Gansey away from his work and into a warm embrace on the floor.

But for all that this was new rather than the familiar intimacy they had fallen into, what didn't change was that Ronan had always been _his_. Completely his in a way that nothing else that mattered truly was, except for the Pig. Glendower was a quest he gladly shared with others, Adam and Blue were far too independent to belong to anyone but themselves, Noah barely even belonged to himself anymore, but Ronan? Ronan was his and his alone. For all his demons, for all the things he did that Gansey disapproved of, for all his rage that drove him away from Gansey and to men he could slam his fists into, for all the dreams that Gansey could never share, he had no doubt that Ronan would always stay by his side. That Ronan would follow him to the end of the world without a doubt, without a complaint. Ronan would even die for him in a heartbeat, and that thought terrified Gansey as much as it excited him.

The leather in his hand, the leather Ronan had _put_ into his hand, was nothing but a logical extension of everything they'd already been. 

Gansey slowly walked backwards to his bed, his hand firm as Ronan lingered and the leash pulled taut, and then he followed in the slow, stalking steps of a predator, as if there was no leash to keep him. Still no threat in that, only the simple fact that Gansey would never tame Ronan, that Gansey didn't _need_ to tame Ronan to own him. Another tug on the leash, downwards this time, and the words spilled from Gansey's lips before he realised he was saying them out loud, words he'd often thought and even said a few times, but then more jokingly than now.

"Down, boy." 

He could hear the breath hitch in Ronan's throat before he sank to his knees, one smooth motion that went straight to Gansey's head and to his cock. Ronan bowed his head until his forehead touched Gansey's hip. The collar was a perfect circle around his neck; there was no clasp Gansey could see at the back, nor feel when he touched it lightly. He ran his fingers over Ronan's head as if to smooth out his hair. Ronan's shoulders slumped; he relaxed. He'd been taut as a bowstring since Sunday – whatever Declan had said to him this time, it had stuck –, had stumbled from one fight into the next. There was a sharp cut on his eyebrow that made Gansey wince whenever he looked at it, wince both because he hated to see Ronan hurt and because he hated to see anyone else mark him. The only bruises he ever wanted to see on him were those his own fingers had dug into Ronan's hips, the only scratches those left by his fingernails and his teeth.

"I'd need this out there more than in here," Gansey said. His voice was conversational, but with an edge of steel in it, firm already, if not strict yet.

"Then let me wear it out there." Ronan looked up at him before he nuzzled Gansey's crotch, and Gansey couldn't bite back a moan before he tugged on the leash to pull him away. 

"I would have thought this was only for me to see," he said, and for all that he held no illusions that putting a collar on Ronan would truly make him any easier to control or keep him from doing whatever he wanted to do, he did like the idea of flaunting this, of flaunting what they had. It was petty, maybe, but he couldn't bring himself to feel bad for it. His cock was straining against his underwear; he felt dizzy looking down at Ronan, at how oddly comfortable he seemed to be on his knees before him.

"Everyone already thinks I'm your dog," Ronan said, a dark smile on his lips. He loved it, being the knife in Gansey's hand, the dangerous shadow to Gansey's blinding perfection. "Let them see."

No shame in Ronan's voice, never that. For all his other troubles, he'd never never felt any guilt for this. He was like a storm, like a force of nature that left no room for doubt, and he'd swept Gansey with him the first time they'd kissed. It was part of who they are, and nothing had changed about their relationship when Ronan had first come to his bed.

Gansey slipped his thumb between Ronan's lips, his fingers tightening on Ronan's chin until his teeth unclenched. His other hand undid his chinos, fingers quickly pulling his cock out and giving it a slow stroke.

"My dog," he said and laughed breathlessly. "What do they know? More like a half–tamed wolf. My wild thing."

Ronan moaned around his thumb, strained forward until his lips brushed over the tip of Gansey's cock. He was always so eager, he loved doing this with a mad abandon that turned Gansey on almost more than the feeling of his wet mouth did. Wild, wild and beautiful and hungry.

Ronan had told him once that when you threw a punch, you had to accept its consequences before, had to imagine the impact and take it in stride. He sucked cock the same way, accepting everything that came with it the moment he opened his mouth – the hard press of Gansey's cock, deeper and deeper until Ronan gagged and still kept going, leaning forward when Gansey wanted to pull back to let him breathe. 

Gansey kept his thumb in Ronan's mouth right beside his cock, holding it open as if he needed to, just like the fingers of his other hand curled into the leather of the collar as if he had to keep him in place. They'd done this before, on the floor or in bed or in the bathroom, and for all that their other encounters were usually more tender, this rarely was. Gansey might have felt bad about how much the breathless groans around his cock and the glassy look in Ronan's hungry eyes got him off, if he hadn't known how desperate Ronan was for this. 

There would be days, he thought while slipping two fingers underneath the collar to tighten it, when he'd draw this out, tease Ronan and tease himself, take this offer of a game for what it was and invent new rules for it, but tonight he didn't want to hold back. He only drew back far enough to meet Ronan's eyes when he came, and for all that Gansey didn't make a habit of swearing, he swore almost as much as Ronan when they did this, Ronan's name and endless "fuck"s turning into one long, breathless moan.

It was only once his head cleared a little that he realised that Ronan's shoulder was moving, and when he made a step back he saw that Ronan was palming his crotch through the black denim. Still dizzy, still light–headed, or Gansey wouldn't have yanked on the leash hard enough to make Ronan straighten up on his knees, and Ronan groaned as if Gansey had touched his cock instead.

"Don't," Gansey warned, his voice dropping so low he barely recognized it. "That's mine."

The look in Ronan's eyes was nothing short of adoring, the same look he'd given Gansey that night at Kavinsky's substance party, Gansey with a molotov cocktail in his hand and a savage ferocity in his eyes. It was all delight and love and the pure, wild joy that was Ronan's happiness. 

Another tug on the leash and Ronan rose to his feet, hands folded behind his back so as to keep from touching himself. Gansey wrapped the leash a few more times around his hand to shorten it and pull Ronan into a harsh kiss, teeth clashing and sinking into soft lips, and he hadn't ever thought he'd like his own come until he'd tasted it in Ronan's mouth. His other hand went down to Ronan's crotch, covering it without too much pressure, a fleeting touch that was barely even a promise of more.

Maybe, Gansey thought, he would tease Ronan after all.

 

 

The moon had risen by the time they were done, sprawled out on Gansey's bed in the center of the room, their clothes long discarded, both of them naked except for the leather around Ronan's neck and in Gansey's hand. Ronan was curled up against his side like a large sated cat, one leg slung possessively over Gansey's, one arm wrapped around him, his head on Gansey's chest. Gansey's hand on the back of his neck, stroking him tenderly, caressing the slightly reddened skin.

"It doesn't come off, you know," Ronan said after such a long silence that Gansey had been starting to think he'd dozed off. "I tried when I first put it on, but it doesn't open. I think I'll have to cut it off, but I wanted you to see it first."

He sounded miserable, and Gansey couldn't blame him. Apart from what it meant to both of them, the collar was a thing of beauty, as intricately designed as Ronan's tattoo. Gansey touched it at the back, where there should have been a clasp, and found the tiny split where the ends of the collar met, as if glued together. 

"Are you sure? Why would you dream a collar that can't be opened?" he asked, and as if to make a point he pulled ever so lightly on both ends. They came apart immediately.

Gansey stilled at the same moment as Ronan did. He put the ends back together, watched them cling together even as he tugged on the collar, and come apart again once he tried to open it. His heart lurched in his chest, raced as much again as it had while he'd been inside of Ronan. Ronan reached up to touch the collar, and Gansey's fingers shook as they guided Ronan's to show him how to open it. The leather didn't budge. Ronan stilled again, but he didn't move away. He lay there, silent, thoughtful, listening to Gansey's heart hammer in his chest.

"Is that how you dreamed it?" Gansey asked softly when Ronan still said nothing.

"Not consciously." Ronan's voice was even, and Gansey suddenly wasn't sure if this was all right, if Ronan might not withdraw the next moment. It happened – not because their intimacy frightened Ronan, but because he often didn't know how to express that he truly wanted it.

Or rather he did, just not in words or normal gestures, but in dreams and things taken from dreams, dreams turned into reality by that marvelous mind of his. Sometimes Gansey almost wished he could dream with Ronan, fall into that world of ravens and flowers and thorns and miracles that was Ronan's head, until he remembered the horrors that lived in it, the horrors that Ronan would die to protect him from, even in a dream. 

Gansey took the collar off him and put it in Ronan's hands, then stroked his hair gently and hugged him tighter.

"You know I'll take it off you whenever you like." He kept his voice serious, a different kind of firm, the kind that made it clear he wouldn't break his word. He knew that Ronan knew this, but it still mattered to Gansey to _say_ it, to make those words as real and indubitable as every touch on Ronan's throat had been.

"Of course," Ronan said with a slight frown, as if wondering why Gansey would bother to remind him. His fingers curled around the collar and the leash, his body was sweaty and warm and relaxed against Gansey's side. Despite the frown he looked as peaceful as he ever did. "Why else would I have dreamed this for you?"


End file.
